


Imagine Me and You

by clio_jlh



Series: Imagine Me and You [26]
Category: American Idol RPF
Genre: Canon Gay Character, Canon Lesbian Character, Coming Out, Commitment, Community: rpf_big_bang, Engagement, Fake/Pretend Relationship, Gay Male Character, Humor, Lesbian Character, M/M, Male Friendship, Male-Female Friendship, Publicity, RPF, Romance, Same-Sex Marriage, Show Business
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-08-28
Updated: 2010-08-28
Packaged: 2017-10-13 00:03:55
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 18,893
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/130616
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/clio_jlh/pseuds/clio_jlh
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Ryan and Simon have been working together on Idol for eight years and dating for almost as long; they've got their London-LA relationship down to a science. They hide in plain sight, they get close friends to pose as girlfriends, and if they combine business and pleasure on a few trips, no one is any the wiser.<br/>But when Simon decides to leave the show, one of them will have to find the courage to do what it takes to keep them together. Luckily they have friends like Ellen and Elton to show them the way out.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Imagine Me and You

**Author's Note:**

> Written for the RPF Big Bang. Thanks to super awesome betas Ignaz and MelodiousB, and my artist Engel82.  
> Ryan quotes, twice, from the end of Sixteen Candles (1984), written and directed by John Hughes. He also makes obvious reference to the Twilight series by Stephanie Meyer and the Harry Potter books by J.K. Rowling (and the movies of both) at the beginning of the story. "Sharon" is Elton John's nickname; "Gladys" I made up.  
> [masterpost](http://jlh.dreamwidth.org/497573.html) | [art](http://community.livejournal.com/thelostpairings/8950.html) | [mix](http://the-water-clock.dreamwidth.org/493972.html)

_Los Angeles, May 2009_

Ryan had never thought of himself as a brave man. Hard-working, intelligent, and ambitious, definitely, but not brave. The Sorting Hat would never have put him into Gryffindor. (Probably not Slytherin either, and however much he might argue for Ravenclaw he'd end up in Hufflepuff. Which wasn't so bad, since Edward Cullen was a Hufflepuff too, sort of.) And Simon knew him inside and out, better than anyone. So really, Simon should have been expecting what Ryan needed to say.

"I can't do it," Ryan blurted out one evening, apropos of nothing. "You need to find someone else."

"You're breaking up with me?" Simon asked, scowling.

"No! No, why would you say that?"

"Well, you're all serious," Simon said, waving a pen at him. "And you said to find someone else."

"I meant, to replace Terri," Ryan said.

Simon raised an eyebrow. "You _want_ me to replace Terri?" he asked. "Why?"

Ryan toyed with a thread on his not-so-perfectly torn jeans. "Look, if you could just give me a pass on this one?" he asked.

"A pass?"

"On explaining?"

"No," Simon said, setting his papers on the coffee table and turning to face Ryan more fully. "If you want me to go out and find a new girl then you're going to have to tell me why, because I thought we were doing fine."

Ryan shook his head. "I'm not," he admitted. "The rumors are too much, and they don't seem to be slowing down. They've been bad before but never warned-by-the- _National-Enquirer_ bad."

"It does seem that someone we know has been talking, which is worrisome," Simon said. "And I can't say that I don't understand your concern. Max has been all over me about it."

Max was Simon's publicist and a whiz at keeping Ryan and Simon's relationship from the British tabloids. He also was of the firm belief that the two of them should stay closeted, for the good of their careers. Not that either of them disagreed with that assessment; the time since Simon's longtime girlfriend Terri left had been an experiment in hiding in plain sight.

"Yeah?" Ryan asked. "What did he want you to do?"

"He said that if I had a girl by the night of my birthday party, then all the stories would be about her, and we could get up to whatever we wanted."

"Max is very clever."

"He earns his keep," Simon said. "But why can't you just take care of this?"

Ryan looked up. "What would you recommend?" he asked.

"Well, the obvious. Get a girl of your own."

"Yes, because that's worked out so well in the past," Ryan said.

"You could try again," Simon replied. "I don't think you're _incapable_."

"Well, thanks for that," Ryan said, rolling his eyes. "It's just easier for you. I dunno, since Shana, I've never been able to pull it off."

"You really need to get over her," Simon said. "I think that's half your problem."

"That doesn't even make any sense," Ryan said

"I mean, that with Shana you just fell into it," Simon said. "It wasn't deliberate. Since you broke it off with her you've chosen ladies that you lie to, rather than lie with."

Ryan cocked his head. "Lie in the biblical sense?" he asked.

"I mean, who are lying with you."

Ryan couldn't help it; he started to giggle.

"You know what I mean," Simon said, waving his hand. He waited until Ryan was serious again. "You're sure?" he asked

"I thought I could stick it out," Ryan said, "but I can't. So I'm asking you to do this for me. And I don't ask for much, considering."

Simon was quiet for a bit, thinking. Ryan tried not to hold his breath, not to stare, not to do anything distracting.

"Well, Ryan," he said at last, "perhaps you have a point. It's difficult enough, being in two cities most of the time. Why add more stress?"

"Yeah, that's what I was thinking," Ryan said. He smiled and put a hand on Simon's. "Thanks."

"Of course," Simon said, leaning in and giving him a quick kiss.

Ryan leaned back on the couch, feeling like a deflated balloon suddenly, all the stress ebbing out of him. He yawned.

"All right, darling, time for bed," Simon said.

Ryan leaned in for another kiss. "Love you."

"I know. Off you go. Talk in the morning."

"You mean fuck, right?" Ryan asked, grinning.

Simon looked up from what he was reading, and Ryan had a sudden flash of a much older Simon, hair gone silver, peering at him over reading glasses. "You know what I mean," he said.

Ryan trotted upstairs, leaving Simon to his usual overnight work in his den. He was glad he could stop worrying, though he thought Simon deserved a little present for humoring his worries and not giving him a hard time about his many failed attempts at getting himself a girlfriend. It was kind of humiliating, really: mess (Teri Hatcher on Letterman) after mess (Sara Jane on Howard Stern) after mess (a perfectly nice bartender no one had heard of, and so no had one believed). But he wasn't ready to be this exposed, wasn't sure he'd ever be ready, and wasn't interested in bringing Simon down with him.

Ryan thought about presents as he brushed his teeth. Simon liked sexy presents best, and lately he had a thing for waking Ryan up with sex. Or really, starting it when Ryan was still sleeping, which he'd been hesitant about until Ryan told him he liked it. It made him feel sexy, to think that Simon found him irresistible even when he was sleeping. They'd gotten their schedules as in sync as they were going to get—Simon slept while Ryan worked, Ryan slept while Simon worked, and that left play hours together—but the sex was still tricky to schedule if they wanted to go out and be social.

Then Ryan suddenly knew exactly what Simon would want, and he grinned to himself as he got ready for bed.

* * *

  
After Simon watched Ryan head upstairs, he tried to go back to his reading. But he couldn't focus, so he went out to the pool to have a cigarette. To be honest, he wasn't entirely surprised by Ryan's request. While he'd been telling himself that he was stalling Max about a new girl because he wanted to see what would happen if he simply didn't have one, he had to admit, to himself at least, that his first reaction when Ryan made his request was relief. So many people were watching, and there was only so long a wealthy bachelor could remain single without starting to look like a confirmed bachelor in the old-fashioned sense.

Max had suggested Mezhgan, a friend of Simon's who knew how this sort of thing went. Like Terri, she was a London girl on the make in LA who could benefit greatly from what Simon had to offer her. That was how it worked best—when the girl could get something out of it—and Simon was surprised that Ryan didn't seem to understand that. But then, Ryan had been very spoiled by his former fiancee, Shana, who'd transitioned from proper girlfriend to beard without batting an eyelash.

It wasn't so bad to be relieved, not really. It just meant he and Ryan were on the same page, and surely it was the sign of a healthy relationship that they'd come to the same conclusion independently. Simon still had a little niggling feeling in the back of his mind that he needed a change, the feeling that had led him to delay getting a new girlfriend until now. He'd just been a little worried, as he'd never been in a relationship this long. But now he knew for sure that it had nothing to do with Ryan.

The nicotine put his mind more at ease, or perhaps it was just the decision made. At any rate he went back inside and worked through the night, spending much of it on the phone to London.

On weekdays Ryan got up at five a.m., so Simon headed upstairs a bit before that, hoping for some action or at least a bit of affection. Ryan was curled up on his side, making his little snuffling noise, and Simon's fingers itched to touch him. Out of the corner of his eye, Simon saw a note on his pillow:

> I left a present for you on my body.  
> Sort of. ♥

  
Simon pulled the covers down slowly and saw something protruding from the firm cheeks of Ryan's arse. He reached down and sure enough, it was one of their toys. He gave it a little twist, finding it was very well lubed indeed. Ryan was sporting a morning erection, too, and his golden skin made a very pretty picture against the pale sheets.

Simon eased off the bed and into the bathroom, quickly getting ready for bed, his cock getting harder every moment with the thought of what Ryan had been doing during his own bedtime ritual several hours before. He came back out with two hand towels, and rubbed plenty of lube onto his cock before getting into the bed. He slipped the toy out of Ryan's body, wrapping it in one of the towels before placing it on the nightstand; he'd learned through experience that careless disposal of toys would enrage the fastidious Ryan and entirely ruin the mood. Ryan didn't wake, just moved his hips slightly, almost enticing Simon, and he obliged, sliding into Ryan's arse slow and steady so as not to wake him.

Ryan hummed, but that was all, and Simon supposed that it wasn't so different from the toy, not really. He rocked against Ryan a few times, then began to thrust, and the motion finally woke him.

"Hmm?" Ryan said, still a little sleepy. "Guess you found the present."

"I did," Simon said, his lips brushing Ryan's ear. "Thank you. It's lovely."

"Nice thing to wake up to," Ryan said, and pushed back against Simon.

"So glad you think so," Simon replied, and oh, he was. He'd never managed to enter a sleeping Ryan as the necessary preparations always woke him. Simon knew it was a little wrong, his whole fascination with fondling Ryan while he slept, but Ryan looked so innocent, his daytime claws pulled back into his little paws. Ryan had never actually been innocent since Simon had known him—Simon wasn't sure if Ryan had _ever_ been innocent—but at these times they could pretend that Simon was an old roue here to debauch the young man. All the benefits, none of the drawbacks.

Simon stroked Ryan, rubbing his balls and cock, and Ryan was so yielding and responsive in his arms that Simon knew he wasn't going to last much longer. Blindly he grabbed for the other towel and laid it on the bed in front of Ryan, then set to work getting him off, because there was nothing like feeling him clench while Simon was inside him. Ryan cried out, spurting hard onto the towel, and a few thrusts later Simon had come as well, deep within Ryan's arse. It was only in the morning that Ryan would allow any barebacking, because he could get rid of what he called "that drippy feeling" in the shower, so in a way that was a present as well.

"Was it as good as you'd hoped?" Ryan asked, turning in his arms once Simon had withdrawn.

"More," Simon replied, and they kissed soft and slow. "Love you."

"You'd better," Ryan said, smiling. "Shower?"

"I'll join you in a moment," Simon said. He stared openly at Ryan's arse as he went into the bathroom, wondering again why everyone who'd seen it in person or on telly didn't want to fuck it immediately, and had a lovely feeling of everything being right in the world.

* * *

  
 _London and Los Angeles, August 2009_

The change came a few months later, and very suddenly. Ryan saw it, and immediately texted Simon.

>   
>  _Ryan— >Simon_  
> she's out.
> 
>  _Simon— >Ryan_  
> Who's out of where, please?
> 
>  _Ryan— >Simon_  
> paula, idol, she's out
> 
>  _Simon— >Ryan_  
> Bloody hell. I knew they were treating her badly, but this?
> 
>  _Ryan— >Simon_  
> yeah she doesn't sound too happy about it
> 
>  _Simon— >Ryan_  
> You spoke to her?
> 
>  _Ryan— >Simon_  
> no, she tweeted
> 
>  _Simon— >Ryan_  
> Oh God, Ryan, speak English please.
> 
>  _Ryan— >Simon_  
> fine, she announced it on twitter
> 
>  _Simon— >Ryan_  
> This is a reliable source?
> 
>  _Ryan— >Simon_  
> she does her own tweeting
> 
>  _Simon— >Ryan_  
> Even worse.
> 
>  _Ryan— >Simon_  
> but given what we know
> 
>  _Simon— >Ryan_  
> True. Damn. Well, I'm not surprised.
> 
>  _Ryan— >Simon_  
> wonder what they'll do for the auditions
> 
>  _Simon— >Ryan_  
> Guests as usual, I reckon.
> 
>  _Ryan— >Simon_  
> that should be fun, for values of fun that are not fun at all because simon is so pissy
> 
>  _Simon— >Ryan_  
> Shut up.

  


* * *

  
_Dallas, August 2009_

The reason Simon wasn't surprised at Paula's departure was that his own negotiations weren't proceeding particularly well. He still held out hope that he could reduce the gap between leaving _American Idol_ and starting _X-Factor_ , to keep his own popularity from cooling off and maximize the publicity for the new show. But he was also only one man, and "hotness" wasn't enough of a reason to keep all these balls in the air for another year, especially when the most important one was labeled, not "X-Factor," but "Ryan Seacrest."

Of course, he didn't let Ryan know that.

The bright side of the guest judges for the auditions was that he could (very quietly and unofficially) put a few names on and off his own list for possible _X-Factor_ judges. Posh: yes, particularly if he decides not to be a judge himself. Chenoweth: far too bubbly. Mary J.: potential. Shania: lovely. Katy: has better things to do. Avril: should have better things to do. Miscellaneous Jonas brother: absolutely not.

And then there was Neil Patrick Harris, who for some reason was referred to almost exclusively by his initials, who was almost as busy as Ryan and was clearly coming to Dallas for the day as a lark, and who managed to commandeer the entire proceedings. He even took over the call for the vote, putting through some Broadway girl and proving to be an even tougher sell than Simon himself. Ryan, predictably, was delighted.

"I'm not sure what's so amusing," Simon said later, when they were alone.

"I don't know," Ryan said, kissing along Simon's neck. "Maybe that I've seen you lusting after boys before, and for the most part I don't care …"

" _Right_ ," Simon said.

Ryan snickered. "I said for the most part. Besides, they're nearly always pretty boys you want to bend over some table and fuck."

"Like you," Simon said.

"Ah, but that isn't what happened, is it?" Ryan said, slipping off Simon's shirt. "I fucked you the first time."

"Are you going to hold that over my head forever?" Simon asked.

"Yes," Ryan said.

"Anyway, your point, if in fact you had one?"

Ryan sat up a bit. He was on the bed in Simon's lap, straddling his legs, and Simon's back was supported by approximately forty-five pillows. Ryan pulled off his t-shirt. "My point was, I saw how you looked at NPH, and you didn't want to bend him over a table."

"No?" Simon asked, his hands skidding up Ryan's sides.

"You wanted him to push you down and take you," Ryan said. "I could see it in the way you looked at him, the way you let him take over." Ryan unbuckled Simon's belt, sitting up on his knees so he could unfasten Simon's jeans and push them down. "I've never seen you like this, wide-eyed and ready to roll over for a _man_. Well, other than me, of course."

"Was I that obvious?" Simon asked, helping Ryan with his own jeans.

"Not to anyone else," Ryan said. "If NPH noticed, he found it amusing. He didn't say anything to me, if that's what you're asking."

"It wasn't," Simon said. "Ooh, I like these pants."

"Yeah?" Ryan asked, looking down to make sure he remembered what underpants he'd put on that morning. "They're new."

"I like you in green, and they … feature you very nicely." He ran his hands along them, grabbing Ryan's behind.

"Thank you, but stop changing the subject," Ryan replied.

"What were we talking about?"

"How much you want NPH to push you down on the bed with those strong arms and fuck you." Ryan reached behind Simon and started removing pillows from the bed, each one making him lean back a bit more. "I don't think he and his partner David swing, and if they did they probably wouldn't swing with _us_ , but I have pretty strong arms myself." When there were only two pillows left, Ryan climbed off Simon and crouched next to him on the bed. He left one pillow under Simon's head and held the other. "So I could be him, for you, if you wanted."

Simon took the pillow from Ryan and placed it under his lower back. "Or you could push me down on the bed with your own strong arms and fuck me and not pretend to be anyone but yourself," he said.

Ryan grinned. "Or I could do that," he said, and did.

* * *

  
 _London, October 2009_

With Paula gone, the auditions were moved up into the summer and Hollywood week back into January. It seemed odd to be solidly in London for the autumn, rather than flitting back and forth to America, balancing _Idol_ and _X-Factor_. Simon's days were less frantic, and the Syco folks in London thanked him for it, but he had to admit to himself that he missed the jolt of energy he always got from being in LA, the sunshine and all that. If Ryan interpreted this to mean that he actually missed Ryan himself, well, that was fine. It made Ryan happy, and didn't particularly bother Simon, not that he admitted there was any truth to the idea.

Other than overseeing the show, Simon spent much of the autumn with Mezhgan. He'd always liked her, and was relieved that even with frequent exposure and at close quarters she didn't annoy him, though she didn't actively delight him either. She seemed to truly understand what this was about—well she would, wouldn't she, knowing Terri—which was so unlike the girls Ryan tended to find. And she had her own reasons for going along, not all of which were career-related—the usual overbearing old country family thing, which made him as much a beard for her as she was for him. Simon felt very pleased with himself as he took her out to dinner.

"I can't believe you've gone to all the trouble to get a reservation here—" she began.

"Not much trouble actually," Simon replied. "One of the perks."

"Fine," she said, "but you came here and you ordered steak and chips?"

"I like steak and chips," Simon replied, and it was, in fact, a very good steak indeed, with some sort of magic seasoning. He must inquire about it, through channels, as Ryan would want to know. "All you're eating is fish in sauce anyway."

Mezhgan sat up a bit. "Fish in sauce?" she asked.

"Well, yes," he replied, gesturing with his fork. "You have a piece of fish, and it has some sort of sauce over it, and some veg."

"Simon, this is _four star cuisine_ , not something you can get in a vacuum pack at Sainsbury's."

"Of course the _quality_ is higher, but it is still just fish in sauce."

"Why did you bring me here, when you talk about food like that?"

"I don't know," he said, "because you said something about it and because the paps are outside, I suppose."

She sat back in her chair and laughed. "He warned me about you and restaurants, but I didn't listen."

Simon looked up sharply. "You spoke to him?"

"Months ago," she said, her attention returning to her own plate. "When we first started."

"He give you tips?" Simon asked casually. "The Care and Feeding of Simon Cowell?"

"Not really," she replied. "Mostly he said I'd work it out on my own."

"Anything else?"

"That it would go better for me if I saw the humor in it. And he was right."

"Ah," Simon said, and wasn't sure why the conversation was making him uncomfortable. After all, Ryan was the entire reason she was here, so shouldn't he be pleased that they were getting along? It wasn't as though he were giving her sex tips or similar. And Simon was at least self-aware enough to know that he could be rather high maintenance at times, so this was all to the good.

"So, birthday party," Mezhgan said, neatly changing the subject. "Any strong feelings on what I should wear? Or do you want to be surprised?"

"Actually I was planning on buying you a dress," Simon replied, "if that's okay."

"Ooh, yes please," she said. "Perk of the job? Payment for services rendered? Or assurance of a suitable appearance for the girl on your arm?"

"All three, I think," he said, smiling.

* * *

  
Ryan got into London the day before, and _Christ_ , Simon was hungry for him, like a starving man in the dessert. Ryan just laughed as Simon devoured him, barely letting him get through the door before dragging him to the bedroom and fucking him mercilessly.

"Guess the old man's got a lot of life in him yet," Ryan said afterward, laying flat on the bed to stretch out his long-flight kinks.

Simon sat up and grabbed a cig from the bedside table. "Don't pretend you didn't want it just as much, darling," he said, lighting up.

"Oh, I did," Ryan admitted. "Sad, only my hand for company for ten whole weeks."

"Still wanking to Hugh Grant movies, are we?"

"No," Ryan said, turning to look up at Simon. "He's too young. I've moved on."

"To what, pray tell?"

"Sean Connery Bond films."

Simon raised his eyebrows. "Oh really?" he said around the cigarette in his mouth.

Ryan smiled a little and reached up to take the cig, his fingers brushing lightly against Simon's lips as he did so. "Especially those scenes where he's in bed, having just fucked some Bond girl, all furry-chested and smoking. Of course," he said, taking a puff, "I can't see as much in the movie as I can in real life." He looked Simon's naked body up and down, predatory, and Simon could feel the blush coming on. Stupid English complexion.

"So you're Pussy Galore, then?" he asked, taking the cig back.

Ryan sat up. "No, I'm Moneypenny," he said. "Always working, very dependable. Bond girls might come and go, but I'll still be here."

Simon smiled. "I remember a time when you weren't nearly as enamored of my chest hair, and made me wax it."

"I was young and foolish then," Ryan said with a sigh. "So what's the plan for tomorrow?"

"Lunch with Randy and Erika," Simon said, "and then you need to pretend to be staying at your hotel. Besides, that way I get to be surprised by how good you look at the party."

"Hmm," Ryan said. "And you'll be arriving with Mezhgan, I suppose?" he asked.

"Yes," he replied. "Ryan, you—"

"I know," he said. "I'm not much for playing hostess with the most-est anyway." He shrugged, then put on the brave smile. "Can we get some takeaway? I'm starving." He opened the drawer in the bedside table and pulled out the menus. "Curry or kebab?"

Simon struggled not to roll his eyes, or pull Ryan into his arms. He had a particular distaste for Ryan's good-little-soldier routine, but what could he do? Other than indulge his food whims all weekend, that is. "Your choice, darling," Simon said.

 _Los Angeles, January 2010_

Ryan was in his office at E!, looking at a rough cut of _Kardashians_ , still aglow from his post-New Year vacation. Holidays at Simon's house in Barbados were like dreams, sun-kissed and worry-free, where they never talked about the outside world. Perfect, since they were both stressed and busy the rest of the year. And then his phone rang, the same silly "Sexyback" ring he'd had for Simon for a while.

"I'm sorry, it's not going to work out."

Ryan was used to Simon starting phone conversations without so much as a hello but this was ridiculous. "You're breaking up with me?" he asked.

"No!" Simon replied. "I meant, with the _Idol_ people."

"Oh," Ryan said. "You mean—"

"This will be my last year."

"Oh." Ryan looked down at his desk and played with his remote. "I see."

"It's nothing to do with you," he said.

"I know," Ryan replied. "It's all business."

"I have lots of other reasons to be in Los Angeles," he said. "And you have plenty to be in London. And in two years' time, _X-Factor_."

"I know," Ryan said.

"Nothing need change," Simon said. "At least between us. I still—"

"I know, Simon," Ryan said, a bit louder. "I'm just surprised, that's all."

"Yeah," Simon said. "Me too. I really thought it would work out, and we could leave together as we'd hoped."

"That part's all right. I just—"

"Wasn't ready? Neither am I."

"Yeah. So, when are you making the announcement?"

"This afternoon at the TCAs."

"What? Really?"

"Must get ahead of the story. You know that. They want to announce my leaving and _X-Factor_ coming all at the same time."

"Wow," Ryan said, and wondered if he sounded as hollow as he suddenly felt. "Guess I'd better get ready to talk about it tomorrow."

"I'm sorry," Simon said. "I would have wanted to give you more warning."

"It's fine, Simon, really," Ryan said. "I'll deal."

"You shouldn't have to."

Ryan smiled at that. "Don't be nice to me," he said. "Then I _will_ think you're hiding something."

Simon laughed. "I'll talk to you tomorrow, yeah?"

"Yeah, definitely," Ryan said.

"All right. Call me later," Simon said, and hung up.

Ryan got up and closed his office door, then slumped against it. He felt like the wind had been knocked out of him, which was ridiculous. He'd known that the negotiations weren't going well, that it was a definite possibility. And these days, with his own business interests in the UK, it was easy to see Simon quite often outside of the show. He felt tears welling up, but he had no time for that now. He grabbed a tissue and some water and pulled himself back together.

But he also decided to pick up some nachos at Del Taco on the way home, maybe some pie. There were a few back episodes of Oprah and Gossip Girl on the DVR. He could have the ugly cry that was coming on when he got home.

* * *

  
 _  
(hollywood week)   
_

Simon had a good feeling about Ellen. He'd dined with her several times, as she was a good friend of Ryan's, and of course Ryan was excited that she'd taken the job. She hadn't particularly impressed Simon with her stint on Nigel's dance show, but perhaps that had given her a better sense of the job. In any case she was a professional and at the least would be no trouble.

So he was rather surprised when he got out of the car at the theater for Hollywood week and Ryan was standing at the door scowling, hands on hips.

"She's on the warpath," Ryan said. "Just thought I'd warn you."

"Kara?" he asked.

"No, Ellen."

"Whatever for?"

"I don't know, maybe your being two hours late?"

"But—"

Ryan shook his head. "Paula isn't here to take the blame for your shit anymore, Simon."

Simon stiffened. "I had things to take care of," he said.

Ryan's mouth twitched, as if he were trying to hide a smile. "All right," he said.

As they walked in Simon decided a charm offensive was likely the best strategy. It worked on Paula, Kara, and even Ryan unless he was furious, and with Ellen being from New Orleans, it might appease her for the same reasons. In Simon's experience Southerners didn't have the suspicions of charm that other Americans often did.

As soon as Ellen saw him enter the theater, she began to applaud. "There he is! Can we get started now, please?"

"Darling, I am _so sorry_ ," Simon said. "Couldn't be avoided, won't happen again." He reached the judges' table and shook hands with Randy and hugged Kara, then stood before Ellen with his arms open.

She rolled her eyes, but hugged him nonetheless. "I didn't know you were such a _diva_ , Simon."

"In Paula's absence someone has to be," he said, sitting down at the table next to her. "Randy won't, you won't, and God help us if Kara decides to."

"Hey!" Kara said.

But Ellen snickered, shaking her head, and Simon smiled with relief for having gotten himself out of that one. "So this is it, huh?" she asked. "I come on, you leave?"

He leaned in and muttered, "I had to make sure there was someone here to take care of him when I'm gone."

The two of them were pals for the rest of the week, all but sitting on top of each other, and he could tell that Kara was annoyed but really, there was plenty of him to go around. There was even enough left over for Ryan.

At the end of the week he went back to London feeling very good about this coming year of _Idol_. Kara had been a bit histrionic at the end, but Ellen's low-key humor balanced her, and he was excited about the semi-finalists. His final season would be the best one ever.

* * *

  
Contrary to some people's first impressions, Ryan wasn't an idiot. He knew full well that Simon came back to the US a little early—that is, in time for Valentine's Day—because of Ryan's reaction to his leaving the show. Ryan didn't want to be the type to get what he wanted through tears; not that Simon had actually seen them, but he wasn't an idiot either. Still, it was nice to know that Simon was paying attention.

And so that night they sat in Simon's newly reopened house, in front of a gas fire, eating hot dogs from Pinks because Ryan loved them and Simon missed them and liked to make suggestive jokes about them until Ryan said, "Of course I would suck your dick with ketchup on it."

Simon made a face. "You're not putting ketchup on my cock, Ryan."

Ryan shrugged. "Ketchup's good on salty things."

Simon shook his head. "Keep talking like that, and I won't give you your present."

"Present?" Ryan asked, his ears perking up.

Simon reached behind him and handed Ryan a gold box with a bow around it.

"You got me Godiva chocolates?" Ryan asked.

"The real present," Simon said, "is that I want you to eat them and enjoy them, and I won't say a single thing about what you do to accommodate them."

Ryan raised an eyebrow. "No disgusted glances at egg white omelets? No teasing me for extra squats?"

"Not a bit."

"No poking my tummy if it gets a little pudgy?"

"Well," Simon said, smiling, "I retain that particular privilege, pudgy or no, but I promise I won't mention it."

"What's going on?" Ryan asked, cocking his head.

"Can't a man give his boyfriend a rather modest Valentine present and not have some other motive?" Simon asked.

"No," Ryan said. "Not when that man is Simon Cowell."

Simon pursed his lips. " _Fine_. I've bought Mezhgan a ring."

Ryan blinked. "A special ring?" he asked.

"The press will think so," Simon said. "It's quite nice, but indeterminate."

"I see," Ryan said. "Start engagement rumors, refuse to comment. Yeah, you can coast on that for a long time." He set the box down. "Max is a clever man, worth every penny."

"I didn't want to talk about her tonight," Simon said. "Tonight is about us."

Ryan nodded. "Okay."

"I mean that."

"I know." The last of his hot dog was dry in his mouth, so he took a long gulp of water to get it down.

"Stop that."

"What?"

"Stop playing the brave soldier, Ryan. I know you're displeased. Let me have it."

"How can I?" he asked. "I'm the one who wanted you to do it."

"For good reason."

"So how can I complain now about it working so well?" He stared into the fire.

"You can always bitch to me," Simon said. "Even if it's about me."

"Yeah?"

"Of course."

Ryan nodded. "So it sucks that my boyfriend is fake engaged," he said. "But at least he told me about it beforehand."

" _She_ doesn't even know yet," Simon said.

"So there you go," Ryan said. "He really loves me."

"I do," Simon said, softly.

Ryan smiled then. Simon really was trying, and Ryan didn't feel much like pouting anymore. "Want some chocolate?" he asked.

"No," Simon said, "it's your present."

"Okay," Ryan said. He popped one into his mouth and put the box up on the couch. "Mmm."

Simon tidied up the Pinks detritus. "You aren't going to be like one of those females who thinks chocolate is better than orgasms, are you?"

"You promised no teasing," Ryan mumbled around his candy, wagging a finger.

"So I did," Simon said.

Ryan let the chocolate slowly melt away in his mouth, and when there was just a bit left he said, "Come here."

Simon raised his eyebrows but leaned in for a kiss. "Chestnut," he said. "My favorite."

"I know," Ryan said, smiling. "Thanks for the present."

"Thanks for understanding," Simon said.

Ryan chuckled. "Thanks for getting my undies back."

"What?" Simon asked.

"Never mind, it's from a movie."

"One of your romcoms?"

"Yeah," he replied.

"Then we'll watch it later. But for now." He looked at Ryan, his eyes twinkling.

"But for now," Ryan replied, and pushed Simon to the floor with a kiss.

* * *

  
 _  
(semi-finals)   
_

Kara pitched a fit, as was her wont, so when the live shows started it was _her_ seated next to Simon, not Ellen. If it had been some other year Simon would have had something to say about it, but he figured he'd probably have more fun teasing Kara than teasing Ellen, and besides, he wasn't sure how much he actually cared. Ryan referred to his vague disinterest as "senioritis," which was apparently some affliction of ennui common to soon-to-graduate American high school students. Simon wouldn't know; he'd left school like a normal person.

But everything else was precisely as it should be. He and Ryan still flirted, just without the remarks about being gay that Ellen disliked. And frankly, he didn't need it; he had a fiancee. Ryan even used said fiancee as an excuse to tell Kara to get her hands off his property. If this was how Ryan behaved when he could hide behind a beard, relaxed and sexy and smiling, it would be a lovely final season indeed.

Simon even loved playing house with Ryan, which was strange. He'd never thought of himself as a particularly domestic fellow, certainly had never been in the past, but there was something about working through the night knowing Ryan was sleeping upstairs, and then waking him up early for his show, that felt homely and comfortable. They fell into rhythms on the show and at home, and that, Simon would miss terribly.

The singers were disappointing, bit of a snooze really, but that was sometimes true early in the season and this bunch seemed unusually nervous. He itched to mentor them, to remove the false barrier—to do _his show_ —but he couldn't. He had to wait until _X-Factor_ started, and he hated waiting full stop. But on the final night of the semi-finals, he was shaken out of his boredom because it was a disaster, a complete failure of the process, and he couldn't imagine what anyone was thinking, what the public was actually voting _for_. They'd gone from a truly lovely top 24 to a somewhat mediocre top 12, and he wasn't sure where things had gone so horribly wrong.

* * *

  
 _  
(top twelve)   
_

Last first night of finals. Last time for many things, Simon was realizing. He felt old and sentimental.

Ryan, on the other hand, was bouncing in his little shoes, pleased as punch. He loved being on the big stage, where they had more time and he could really shine. And he preferred two nights a week; the semis were a grind for him with all his other jobs.

The judges were introduced, went to their seats, Ryan came flying down that staircase (which still made Simon nervous), and they were off. Big Mike sang "Miss You" quite well, though Simon himself missed the line about Puerto Rican girls, and since the music cue for Ryan came up before he was finished, he kept talking.

That, apparently, was a mistake.

Ryan looked at him, and Simon recognized that little determined expression Ryan got whenever he made up his mind. Suddenly Ryan was walking directly toward him, jacket unbuttoned. Simon pushed back in his chair, almost as a reflex, then realized he probably shouldn't have done that as he'd become so hard so quickly that he thought his dick was going to rip right through his jeans. Ryan put his hands on the table and leaned in, saying something about his part of the show, Simon wasn't really paying attention to his words, and then suddenly he was back up on the stage giving the numbers.

Simon rolled back under the desk and willed his hard-on to at least be less noticeable by the commercial break, and happily his body obliged. It simply wouldn't do to walk out for a cig with that much of himself exposed. The audience would assume a different cause, of course, but it was still vulgar.

The rest of the show demanded all his powers of concentration, mostly because Ryan was so in his element, so happily in command, and so effortlessly charming that it was hard to see anyone else. (Though that may have been because only two or three of these singers had any personality to speak of on stage; they certainly were a performance-averse group.) Once the show ended, and the after show conversations were over, all he could think about was getting to Ryan's dressing room. He was like a whirlwind in his own, taking off his makeup and shoving his extra clothes into his bag and giving Mezhgan an absent-minded peck on the forehead before dashing over to knock on Ryan's door.

Ryan opened the door and looked him up and down, smirking. "That was fast. Come in."

"Anyone else here?" he asked, putting down his bag.

"No, I sent them all home," Ryan said, leaning back against the counter of his dressing table. "Why?"

Simon dropped to his knees without even thinking about it, wrapping his arms around Ryan's little waist and nuzzling his face against Ryan's cock, half-hard in his post-show jeans.

Ryan reached a hand down to stroke Simon's hair. "Is that where you are, darling?" he asked, and all Simon could do was nod. It had only happened maybe five or six times before that Ryan would do or say something particularly forceful, sometimes on purpose and sometimes not, and suddenly all he could think about was giving everything up to Ryan and letting Ryan take care of him. He'd never been like this with anyone else—never given in so completely.

Once, as a joke, some friends of Simon's sent him a professional dominatrix. Intrigued, he decided to get into the spirit of the thing, and what transpired shook him to the core. He knew he could never see her again; a powerful businessman as a regular client of Mistress Natasha was not only hopelessly cliche, but also too good of a story not to eventually end up in _The Daily Mirror_. That he'd found his way back to that feeling with Ryan was yet another way that Ryan kept surprising him, even now.

"Use your hands," Ryan said, and Simon quickly did, unfastening the button fly and pushing Ryan's jeans and pants down just enough to free his cock. Simon dove in, licking along the bottom of Ryan's cock and sucking little wet kisses on the soft loose skin of his balls, working to get him harder.

"Feels good," Ryan said, that encouraging hand still stroking through Simon's hair, the other resting loosely on his shoulder. "Get me good and hard and I'll fuck that pretty mouth of yours. You want that?"

Simon hummed his agreement with this plan, not wanting to take his mouth off Ryan's skin. After a few minutes, Ryan gently pushed his head back, and Simon looked up at him.

Ryan smiled. "Ready?" he asked, and Simon nodded; he didn't like to talk at times like this, which Ryan knew. He opened his mouth and when he felt Ryan's cock heavy on his tongue he wrapped his lips around it. Ryan's hand was firm on the back of his head, and when the fucking started Simon sighed. It was relaxing, to just sit and let Ryan do as he pleased, to see the lust for him in Ryan's eyes, but it was hot too, and the hard-on that had never entirely gone away was back with a vengeance. He held on to the back of Ryan's thighs for balance and he could feel the muscles contract as Ryan thrust into his mouth.

Ryan's moans became more urgent, his thrusts more erratic, and as Simon felt Ryan lose control he lost it himself, coming hard just before he tasted Ryan's semen on his tongue. "Mmm," he said, cleaning the head before slipping off it with a slurpy pop.

Ryan knelt beside him almost immediately. "Fuck, that was so good," he said, kissing him. "So fucking hot."

"Thank you," Simon said between kisses.

Ryan glanced down. "Oh my god, you came in your pants, didn't you? Just from that?"

"Not just that," Simon replied. "All of it."

Ryan ran his fingers over the wet spot. "Jesus. I'm taking you home and fucking you over the nearest piece of furniture."

"Please do," Simon said.

* * *

  
 _  
(top eleven)   
_

It wasn't a good show, and Ryan could feel it. It happened sometimes, especially early in the season when the kids hadn't lost their nerves and there was too much chaff in with the wheat, though Ryan was beginning to wonder exactly how much chaff they had in this top twelve. At least his pre-taped bit with Ellen went over, and when Simon threatened to fall back into old habits and ruin their deal with her about the gay jokes because he was a little panicky about Ryan touching him, Ellen covered in the most delightful way possible. Ryan even got another kiss from her out of it.

Then, at the long break, Simon said, "Join me outside, won't you?"

This was unusual—Ryan didn't often go outside while Simon was smoking—so he followed without question.

Simon led him to a vacant little nook. "Nice little film you made," he said, lighting up.

"Came out pretty good," Ryan said.

"You used to do those with me."

Ryan raised his eyebrows. "We haven't shot one in years, Simon."

"And the flirting, and the kissing."

"Here we go," Ryan said, and pulled out his blackberry.

"What are you doing?"

"Tweeting," Ryan replied.

"Oh good lord. I'm serious, Ryan."

"You can't be. She's a _friend_ and you know it. She's also a _married lesbian_ whose wife is _in the audience_."

"I'm well aware of that," Simon replied. "They canoodle at every break."

"Canoodle? What, you're Page Six now?"

Simon glared.

"Look, if you want to be jealous of someone, be jealous of them _both_."

Simon was quiet for a moment. "You're not the only one who likes to claim what's theirs," he said, tapping ash off the end of his cigarette.

Ryan resisted the temptation to smile; he knew well that it wouldn't be appreciated. "You know you can claim me whenever you want to, darling," he said.

"Can I mark you?" he asked.

Ryan blinked; he hadn't known Simon to care _this_ much. "With what, a tattoo?" he asked.

"Perhaps," Simon said.

"You know how I feel about pain," Ryan replied. "But if you want I'll let you draw on me with a Sharpie later."

He laughed then. "Fine," he said, stamping out his cigarette. "Fine."

Of course, after that Simon decided he needed his own on-air kiss from Ellen. Well, he was nothing if not predictable.

* * *

  
 _  
(top seven)   
_

Over the next few weeks, Ryan had a strange sense of the entire show going off the rails, and he wasn't sure where it started.

The kids weren't getting into the swing of things, even now, even with Adam trying to shake them up, even with the drama of the save and the double elimination.

Randy was still Randy, of course, and always would be, world without end, amen. But Ellen was fading. She'd started strong, but Ryan couldn't remember the last time she'd said anything of substance. Kara, who had shown her intention to turn into the diva of the show during the semis, was making progress toward that goal, including dismissing most of what Ellen had to say.

And Simon was phoning it in. Ryan didn't think he'd ever seen him look so bored.

That left Ryan to do whatever he could think of to pep up a show that was in danger of putting _him_ to sleep, and he was on stage. Though within the constraints of the show he didn't have a lot of choices. He started eating a little less food and drinking a little more coffee to be more energetic. He danced with people in the audience. He made sexual jokes with Adam Lambert, where he could look innocent and Adam could look knowing. He let Mike pick him up and shake him.

All he got for his efforts were inquiries as to his meth dealer, and then everyone had to tell the press no, Ryan wasn't on drugs, he was just a little hyper. So he stopped, because he couldn't save this season single-handedly. He could be as passive as everyone else, as long as he got the damn show in on time. Seriously, if no one else cared, not even the kids, why should he?

Ryan got his sign—literally—the next time he walked out on the stage, and saw someone in the audience holding up a "SIMON + RYAN 4EVA" sign with a heart and everything. He couldn't help but grin looking at it, and decided he was just going to be selfish and have fun with Simon in the limited time that was left.

Because seriously, fuck 'em.

And nothing was ever more delightful than sitting in Simon's still-warm chair and feeling him standing behind it, listening to him read off the prompter in his unpracticed way, grabbing his hand, and leaning back to rest against his arms.

* * *

  
 _  
(top five)   
_

Ryan had been working on this present for a while. It wasn't from him exactly, but Simon would know who was behind it, because he always knew. Besides, it wasn't about the thank you, but the look on his face. The happiness.

Tina Sinatra liked Ryan, probably for the same reasons that Merv Griffin and Dick Clark and Larry King did, and Ryan liked to think that her father might have, too, even if he was kind of crotchety in his later years. And she had all these little keepsakes, things that weren't valuable in and of themselves but would mean a lot to the right people, so when a mutual acquaintance casually mentioned all the clothes and accessories that were still sitting around in the Palm Springs house, Ryan started working the phones, calling in favors, doing more favors, beating the Hollywood-Palm Springs-Las Vegas bush telegraph generally until he got a meeting.

But the effort was nothing compared to how Simon smiled, to how surprised he was to get it, to how he flushed with pleasure well under his low-cut shirt and stammered his thanks and didn't quite believe that yes, Frank Sinatra's handkerchief was his now. Ryan watched him fold it carefully and put it in his pocket, a treasured thing, and Ryan thought his heart would burst, because it was worth it.

* * *

  
 _  
(top four)   
_

After that high, a healthy dose of reality was to be expected. Ryan had been so focused on what he had, which he'd only have for a few more weeks, that he hadn't been thinking about what he _could_ have.

To be honest, he never thought about what he could have. It seemed too impossible, to "have it all." No one did, and he knew he should feel lucky for having Simon at all. If there was anything he'd learned from Merv, it was that success had its limits.

Ryan was standing off stage as Mike and Casey sang "Have You Ever Really Loved a Woman?" (great movie, cheesy song, though Ryan never said that aloud because Simon liked cheesy songs and his friend Diane had written that one) and they were fine, nothing objectionable really. Randy said some sort of Randy thing that sounded mostly positive. Then Ellen said, "Yes, I have," Portia laughed, and the audience exploded into applause.

Ryan felt like he'd been kicked in the stomach. He had to bite the inside of his lip hard to keep his outer cool, bite it until it bled, which then meant he needed a quick rinse from his water bottle so he didn't have bloody teeth on air, and when he walked out on stage he could barely look at Simon because it was _too fucking much_ sometimes, all this bullshit they had to go through, and he was glad the show was over and he didn't have to keep the mask on for much longer because it was slipping quickly.

The thing was, Ellen was one of the bravest women he knew. And that's why she got to say that on national television with her wife—her actual, legal, recognized-by-the-state wife—sitting behind her and have everyone applaud her joke.

Simon found him after the show and just pulled him into a hug, because Simon always knew. In some ways that made it worse, because it hurt. It didn't hurt often, but when it all caught up to him, he buckled and felt like a little kid throwing a tantrum of the "it's not fair" variety. Which these days meant hanging on to your boyfriend and maybe crying a little.

Then Simon said, "I'm going to draw on you with that Sharpie tonight. I'm going to draw a heart that says 'Simon' on your lower back. What do they call that?"

Ryan sniffed. "A tramp stamp."

"Right, a tramp stamp. I'm going to give you a tramp stamp, Ryan Seacrest, so you won't be able to wear those low cut jeans or crop tops for a little while."

Ryan laughed a little, pulling back to wipe his eyes. "There goes my outfit for Le Deux next weekend," he said.

"Good," Simon replied. "You shouldn't be going there without me anyway."

The next night Simon was extra sweet and lovely and complimentary and Ryan forgot about what he couldn't have, and concentrated on what he did have, right here and right now.

* * *

  
Ryan was in charge of Simon's video tribute, and he'd been slowly crafting it all season, using plenty of Paula stuff because she didn't get _her_ tribute and because Simon would read it as a wink to how long they hid their flirting behind the Simon-Paula flirting. He didn't put in much of the two of them because honestly, he was in enough danger of bursting into tears on that stage without seeing any of _that_.

But now he was taking a quick break to watch Simon on Oprah and eat a salad. Weird how Simon was going out and now Oprah was leaving, too, which meant more markets and better time slots for Ellen, who'd basically come out to Oprah on national television. And Oprah called Ryan on Skype all the damn time but he'd only been there in person this year, and it was like they were all connected by this weird web of stuff. But mostly, it was kind of amazing that Simon could, for once, skip the ritual trip to Chicago and the Harpo studio audience and bring the mountain to Mohammed.

That was the odd thing about Simon—he had a dazzling amount of power, but he was so competitive that he always made Ryan feel like they were equals. They weren't, and if Ryan didn't know that (well, if he didn't know it he was in the wrong damn business) then he had _Forbes_ to tell him so. Simon had a fifteen-year head start, but acted as though he didn't, as though Ryan were nipping at his heels. Not that Ryan didn't have complete confidence that he'd catch up soon enough—his personal goal, by age 40—but that Simon thought he was there now was really kind of sweet when he thought about it.

Simon talked about his background; he drank tea with Oprah; he was charming; he wasn't wearing too much mascara or too-tight clothing for once. Ryan was soothed just by the sound of his voice, even as he talked about Mezhgan in the most indirect way possible, where he said he was in love and it was the real thing but didn't exactly say who that was with (like Oprah didn't know, because, really).

And then she said something about kids and suddenly Simon was yammering about adopting toddlers, something Ryan had never heard before. He would have bet serious money that Simon had no desire to be a father, which is why they had never discussed it, even though Ryan thought he'd make a great one. It was weird, and Ryan wasn't exactly sure how to take it.

So he just went back to making the package, and tried not to worry about whether or not Simon wanted to adopt those kids with _him_. Because that part just couldn't be true.

* * *

  
 _  
(finale)   
_

After the crowd left, and he'd shook hands with all the well-wishers and the kids from all the seasons and got a lovely text from David Cook (he needed to buy the lad dinner next time he was in London), Simon snuck back out to the judges table and just sat, staring up at the stage. Ryan had been scarce but he'd be found; Simon wouldn't be surprised if Ryan had decided he needed some private time, too. He was frankly amazed that they'd found a way to have a private moment in the middle of all that attention, but then they'd always been able to do that. Hide in plain sight, yeah?

Sentiment overwhelmed him, thinking of the number of times he'd pinched Paula under this table, or laughed with Randy, or had Ryan on his lap, and he thought he might tear up again, when he heard someone walking onto the stage.

"Strange to think it's over, isn't it?" Ryan asked.

Simon looked up, and it was wrong, so very wrong, that he might never have this view of Ryan ever again. He shrugged. "It's time."

Ryan hopped down and walked up to him. "Probably." He sat down on the table, and Simon reached out for him, twisted him round until he was sitting right in front of Simon, his legs practically in Simon's lap. "Intimate," Ryan said.

"Don't care," Simon said, and put his hands on Ryan's thighs. "Glad you found me. How much time do you think we have before someone comes to get us?"

"Oh," Ryan said, making a show of looking at his watch, "one minute, maybe two."

Simon chuckled. "Well," he said, "it's not like you haven't sat in my lap on air, or kissed me on air."

"Never both at the same time," Ryan said.

"One kiss in this chair, and then we go," Simon said.

"It's never one kiss with you," Ryan said, but nevertheless he slid down into Simon's lap and planted one on him. "Okay?"

"Yeah," Simon said, and then he heard a beep. "What was that?"

Ryan wriggled in his lap, reaching into a pocket and pulling out his blackberry. "That was Debbie telling us we have less than a minute before the stage hands come to strike the set," he said.

Simon pushed the chair back and they stood, looking at the stage, as the men and women came in and dropped their tools on the stage. One man looked out and saw them standing there. "That Simon?" he asked.

"Yes," he replied.

"Well," the man said, "we're real sorry to see you go, man. You're an original!"

"You can say that again," Ryan replied, and they all laughed.

As they walked out Simon said, "I fell in love with you on that stage."

"No you didn't," Ryan said, "because we weren't in this theater the first season. You fell in love with me the first night we got together. You can't fool _me_."

"Maybe before that. I think it was that day you wore that see-through blouse with matching panties," Simon said contemplatively.

"I still have those panties."

"Really?"

Ryan raised his eyebrows. " _You're_ eager. But we still have to hit the parties."

"Damn."

"Besides, when I bought my house you said no more fucking in dressing rooms."

"Sorry," Simon said. "Really haven't kept that promise."

Ryan laughed. They were properly at the side of the theater now, among people, and made their way to the waiting car.

Simon's phone beeped then and he glanced down. "Oh, Randy, isn't he a love," he said.

"What?" Ryan asked, leaning over to look.

"'Wrap up your sappy goodbyes and get your asses to this damn party or I'll drown Paula in the champagne fountain.' He always has been so understanding."

"Thank god for Randy," Ryan said.

* * *

  
Simon was staying until Monday, just because. It didn't seem odd yet—the rest of life went on as usual—but in a few months there would be auditions happening without him, and that _was_ strange to think of. Even the rest of the week was strangely normal, with Ryan toddling off to work by day and Simon laboring through the night.

Of course, no one else knew that Simon had stayed the weekend, which made it perfect. They drove around in Simon's newest car, and ate dinner at little secluded places they'd found in previous years. They got takeaway, and Ryan grilled some fajitas, and they talked about his summer vacation.

But mostly they fucked. They fucked in the tub and in the shower. They fucked on the iron chaise lounge on the balcony off the bedroom. They fucked out by the pool. They fucked in the game room. They fucked in the living room. They even fucked in the car in the parking lot of one of those little secluded places, because Simon couldn't drive when he was that distracted.

And the best was Sunday night, when they'd come in from swimming in the pool and showered. Then Ryan pushed Simon out of the bathroom, telling him he'd meet him in the bedroom in a moment. He changed into something special, slipping the black robe Simon liked so much over his outfit. When he got to the bedroom he saw Simon, stretched out on the bed with remote in hand, watching his football club on the widescreen.

He leaned against the doorjamb. "Seriously? You're watching sports?"

Simon looked up. "Well, what do you expect? You wandered off."

"It's just kinda stereotypical, is all," Ryan said.

"Why?" he asked. "Are you wearing something naughty under that robe?"

"As a matter of fact I am," Ryan said, moving into the room.

"Really?" Simon asked. He quickly clicked off the television and sat on the edge of the bed.

Ryan dropped the robe, and revealed the translucent black shirt from all those years ago, though the fit was much tighter over his more muscular upper body. With that Ryan wore the matching boy shorts that Simon had bought him as a joking-but-not-really present at the end of that season, that he'd only actually worn the one time. Showing through the fabric was the little heart Simon had drawn on Ryan's hip with a red sharpie the other night, after they'd determined it would be a bit more discreet than his lower back. Ryan could see the possessiveness in Simon's eyes, which made his own cock even harder, trapped and straining inside the boy shorts.

"Like it?" Ryan asked.

"It's entirely ridiculous," Simon said, rising from the bed.

Ryan smiled. "That usually means you approve."

"I do," Simon said, and kissed him. "But the shirt has to go, poor shirt."

"Poor shirt," Ryan said, shrugging his shoulders to help Simon slip it off. "Just doesn't fit over the new muscles."

"You were more of a waif back then," Simon agreed, draping the shirt over a nearby chair. "Now, turn around."

Ryan did as he was told, trying not to feel too self-conscious that he was displaying himself so openly. "Lovely," Simon said, and rubbed his hand along the shorts. "Get on the bed, darling."

Ryan watched Simon go to the bedside table for the lube and condom "Aren't we up and at 'em," Ryan said.

"We are," Simon replied, tossing the articles on the bed. He peeled off his own t-shirt, shorts and underwear quickly, then lay on the bed atop Ryan, nestled between his spread legs. "Nice," he said, rubbing his hands along Ryan's hips and his own cock against the fabric of the shorts. Ryan wasn't in any particular hurry to take them off, either; there was something sexy about delaying his relief a bit, having the thin fabric separate them, his cock hard and on display but neither of them really inclined to do anything about it. They didn't say much after that, just snogged and rubbed against each other, touching whatever they liked, each trying to make the other one a little crazier until finally Simon had had enough, and sat up long enough to slide the shorts all the way down Ryan's legs.

"Ah," Ryan said, stroking his cock a few times. "That's better."

"You may as well keep those legs in the air," Simon said, squirting a bit of lube on his hand. He lay down again, Ryan moaning and giving him more kisses while his fingers did their work in Ryan's ass. "Like it this way?" Simon asked.

"Yeah," Ryan said. "I'll just lie back and think of England." Simon pinched Ryan's hip, right atop the heart, and he yelped.

"You'll do no such thing," Simon said.

"Okay, okay. I'll lie back and think of my Englishman."

"That's better." Simon sat up again, just long enough to quickly get the condom on and slick himself up, and then he was slinging Ryan's legs over his shoulders and sliding his cock into Ryan's arse.

Ryan cooed breathily and nodded. "Yeah, that's it," he said.

"Yeah?"

"God, yeah, do it."

Simon did it the good old-fashioned way, missionary style, fucking him with long, slow strokes and staring into his eyes, and it didn't seem much different from that very first time. Ryan was even more sure now that they actually had fallen in love at first sight; they just didn't know it at the time. But that didn't matter—the only thing that did matter was that they were together, making love, and feeling it all around them. Ryan heard music and thought it was just his sentimentality getting away with him, until he realized it sounded like that Elton John song about lions.

"Are you humming?" Ryan asked.

"Not a bit," Simon said, but he picked up the pace, going a bit redder and glancing away as he often did when he was caught having feelings, and Ryan bit his tongue to not laugh.

Still, they were in no particular hurry, and the upside to Simon's aging was that he lasted much longer, long enough to really fuck Ryan good and make him remember it, to get him to the edge and pull back again, to hit that prostate again and again until Ryan couldn't stand it anymore.

"Please," Ryan moaned. "Please."

"What is it, darling?" Simon asked.

"Wanna come."

"I'm not stopping you."

"Faster, harder, come on, you _know_ ," Ryan said, pouting just a touch.

Simon sucked that jutting lower lip into his mouth as he leaned forward and really pounded into Ryan, who was still murmuring and clutching at Simon's back. Ryan's legs had since fallen back onto the bed but thanks to the workouts that Simon was always making fun of his core was strong enough to keep his hips tipped up even without a pillow. But it was probably the kiss that pushed Ryan over the edge, spurting onto both of their stomachs. Simon was good for only two or three thrusts after that, pushing deep into Ryan as he came.

He rolled off to the side, keeping an arm slung over Ryan as they caught their breath.

"Wow, that was amazing," Ryan said.

"Your 'old man' still got it?" Simon asked.

"And how," Ryan replied.

  


 _Los Angeles, May 2010_

The number that came up was in Ryan's phone, sure, but it belonged to someone he hadn't spoken to in months, maybe a year. "Julianne!" he said. "To what do I owe the pleasure? If I'd known you were in town—"

"Just got in last week," she said, "to watch my brother finally win his second mirrorball trophy."

"Yeah, tell Derek congrats," he said. "Wanna grab some dinner while you're here?"

"I do," she said seriously. "Someplace private. I … I have a question to ask you. Kind of an offer to make."

"Oh," he said. "Well, come over Sunday and I'll make you dinner. It'll have to be on the early side, say, five? I can make fish."

"Sounds fantastic!" she said, sounding more like her bubbly self.

"Great, I'll send you the deets," he replied, and they hung up soon after that.

Ryan brows knit together in confusion as he hung up. He and Julianne Hough were friendly, had been for years now, as _Dancing with the Stars_ and _American Idol_ taped on the same lot on overlapping days. He'd asked her out a couple of times in the past though she'd always declined, and he couldn't blame her, given what he had to offer. But he liked her a lot; she was a hard worker, focused and ambitious without being cutthroat, and was handling her early success very well. He wondered what had made her call him now, out of the blue.

* * *

  
"It's because of Derek," she said, even though he hadn't asked yet.

"Derek?" Ryan asked. He had just served the fish and was sitting down at the table.

"He's—" She paused, looked away for a moment. "The rumors. He really _is_ with Mark, has been since we were pretty young."

Ryan nodded. He'd wondered, to be honest—those two were damn close and the way his fellow dancer Mark Ballas ran out onto the stage and threw Derek onto his shoulders when he won the trophy a few weeks ago had reminded Ryan of the things he and Simon did when they forgot themselves in the moment.

"I can't do anything to help them. Can't really date my own brother, and I already dated Mark when we were kids." She picked at the fish with her fork. "But then I saw you on the finale, when you were doing the tribute and you asked Simon to come up on stage?" She smiled. "I know what that look means. How can everyone not know?"

He smiled a little, thinking about that night, about how hard it was not to cry when he handed the mike to Simon and got a peck on the cheek in exchange. "Sometimes, Julianne, I don't know." He scooped up a bite of patty pan squash and quinoa. "So you want to do this for me, for your brother?"

"I don't agree with everything my church does," she said, "and I know that my money is going to things I don't agree with, like what happened here in California. But it also goes to really wonderful things, and I figure, the best I can do is try to work against the bad things, right?"

"So, pay it forward, that's all?" he asked. He narrowed his eyes, because altruism wasn't enough.

Her smile turned rueful. "Not entirely. Chuck—I really, really liked him. And abstinence before marriage is a teaching I _do_ agree with. Chuck said that most folks who save themselves for their spouse also marry young, which is true, but I don't want to do that. He was willing to marry me. It was that I didn't want either choice that frustrated him."

"You don't want to marry?" he asked.

"I'm twenty-one! I have so much to do, and I can't do that and have the home life I eventually want." She paused, taking a sip of wine. "And I don't think I'll ever find any man as patient as Chuck was, let alone even more patient."

"So that's where I come in."

"We can have a lot of fun! We can be on red carpets and have dates and go on trips and be in _US Magazine_ and people will ask us about each other and we can be coy or gush or whatever! I really like having a boyfriend. I just really don't like explaining why I don't want to have sex." She cocked her head. "I heard that all you want to do is kiss," she said.

Ryan winced at the reference to Sara Jane's appearance on Howard Stern, where they'd all had a good time making fun of him for only ever wanting to make out with the former Playboy Playmate. Last time he let Paris Hilton pick his beards, that was for sure. Besides, he was a damn good kisser; Sara Jane was _lucky_ she got to make out with him.

"Sorry," Julianne said. "I didn't mean to remind you of something unpleasant." She bit her lip, and Ryan was reminded of how very young she was.

"Yeah, that's the thing," Ryan said. "Do you really want to do this? Chuck went too far for you, but are you sure that you won't want to go further than I do? I mean, yeah, I like kissing, and before I met Simon I liked—well, I liked a lot of other things, too. Now, not so much." He fiddled with his fork.

"I adore kissing."

"I don't think you'll realize how much you like the attention of a man until you're not getting it, is all."

"I'll have your attention," she replied, a little tease in her smile.

"No, that's what I mean," he said, sitting back from the table. "You won't, not like that. First, I'm in love with someone else, involved with someone else. Hell, he'll probably call you. And second, yeah, I'll tell you that your dress is pretty, but I won't also be saying, 'and I can't wait to get you out of it.' It's different."

"But I don't want that," she said. "I want it to be like dancing. I want to just have fun being sexy, without anyone thinking I'm making promises I'm not going to keep. You want a girlfriend who isn't trying to have sex with you, and I want a boyfriend who isn't trying to have sex with me. Why wouldn't this work?"

Ryan shook his head. "I don't know. I really like you a lot, Julianne, and I don't want to hurt you. At all. But I'm not sure you know what you're doing here."

"I've always known exactly what I was doing," she said with a little toss of her head. "When you're performing, you figure out what people want and you give it back to them, right?"

"Yes, but—"

"Well, I do know that much," she said, and looked him straight in the eye. "I want to have sex with only one man in my life, Ryan. That's how you can help me."

"Okay," Ryan said, because she certainly meant that. Whether she understood what she was doing—well, how many times had he leapt without really looking? It wouldn't be a disaster, just another relationship that didn't work out. He looked out the patio doors, thinking. "Okay," he said again.

"Okay what?" she asked.

"Okay, let's give it a go," he replied, and realized he sounded like Simon. "But you're not getting me on _Dancing with the Stars_."

* * *

  
Simon had a collection of photos of Ryan, some for public consumption and some very much not. The ones that were not lived mostly on his phone, which had some security device (he didn't like to ask too many questions) such that it could be completely wiped within moments of it being stolen. Nevertheless, the ones that were not for public view didn't have Ryan's face in them. They were focused on … other things. By far his favorite at the moment was one he'd taken that last day in L.A., of the heart he'd drawn on Ryan's hip, his hard cock jutting up and out of the frame. Simon made no bones about being a caveman, and seeing his mark on Ryan helped assuage his instinct to pull Ryan back to his lair by the hair, beating off all competitors as he went.

Oddly, Mezhgan didn't distract him from Ryan at all. Terri could accomplish it; when she was present the dull ache of Ryan's absence subsided, so he'd often sought her out. Mezhgan was a perfectly lovely girl, and he saw her at least twice a week, but she didn't have the same effect. Whether that was because he didn't find her as interesting as Terri, or because his life had become that much more enmeshed with Ryan's during his time without Terri, he wasn't sure. But he didn't like it; he'd only been back in London for a few days and he was already cranky.

Simon was sitting at home at the May bank holiday weekend thinking about that very photo when Ryan called, as though he'd been conjured by the force of Simon's longing.

"Hello, darling."

"Hey," Ryan said, a bit overly cheerful. "How's it going?"

Simon scowled. "You have something to tell me."

"You got that from 'how's it going'?"

"Something you're nervous about. Something you think I won't appreciate."

"I wouldn't say _that_."

"All right, out with it."

Ryan was silent for a moment, then said, "I think I have a girlfriend."

"Really?" Simon asked, lighting a cigarette. "Who's this one?"

"You know her. Julianne."

"Isn't she married?"

"Not Giuliana Rancic my cohost. Julianne Hough, you know, she dances with the stars."

"Oh right." He did remember her—little, blonde, bubbly, cute. Much like Shana, and therefore absolutely Ryan's type. "Bit young, isn't she?"

"Same gap as between you and me," he said.

"Yes but you were what, twenty-six when we met?"

"She's been competing since she was twelve or something. You know how that goes."

"I suppose."

"And she even lived in London for a while as a kid."

"Are you trying to sell her as a girlfriend for me?"

Ryan chuckled. "No, it's just easier. I mean, I like Terri and Mezhgan, so I want you to like Julianne."

"I already like her fine. The question is, does _she_ like _you_?"

"She … has her own reasons for this."

"So she knows."

"She approached me, actually."

"Interesting."

"Look, I'm not saying I wasn't a little surprised," Ryan said, "but I've decided to see how it goes."

Simon took a hit from his cigarette, soothing himself with nicotine and menthol. "Sound thinking," he replied.

"I hope so. Anyway, I think I'll bring her along on my trip to Europe this summer," Ryan said, "and maybe the four of us can get dinner some night."

"The four of us?"

"Yeah. Julianne, Mezhgan, you and me."

"Oh, right," Simon said. "Of course."

Ryan sighed. "I thought you'd be more pleased about this."

"Do I not sound pleased?"

"You sound cautious."

Simon sighed. "I know we don't discuss this, Ryan, but you don't exactly have the best track record with these sorts of things."

"I'm hoping it's different this time."

"I can tell," Simon replied. "That's why I'm cautious rather than pessimistic."

"I'm just taking your advice," Ryan said. "About lying with her instead of to her."

"So long as you aren't actually lying with her," Simon replied.

Ryan chuckled, much as he had when they'd first had that conversation about Mezhgan, which was, good Lord, a year ago now. "Don't worry about that," Ryan said. "Shana was the last one."

"Good." Simon paused, then decided to change the subject. "You know, I was just looking at a picture of you."

"Oh? Which one?"

"The one of your hip. I'm going to have to touch up that heart while you're here, aren't I?"

"Actually, I've been doing it."

"Really?"

'Yeah. I kinda like that it's there."

Simon cleared his throat. "I'm glad."

"But I'd want you to touch it up," he said. "Among other things."

"Is this going to be _that_ kind of phone call?"

Ryan sighed happily, and Simon could tell he was glad the first part of the conversation was over. "It can be, if you want," he said.

Simon chuckled. "Oh, I very much want."

* * *

  
 _London, July 2010_

Ryan and Julianne spent a fun few days in Portofino, hitting the spots sure to have plenty of paps around, and by the time they got to London the pictures had already hit the gossip sites. They hadn't even had to act for the cameras; Julianne was fun to be with and genuinely put a smile on Ryan's face. She was fun to kiss, too, which was definitely as far as Julianne wanted to go, and Ryan was really okay with that. He hadn't really thought about how lonely he'd been for a gal pal.

He'd assumed that Simon, who'd teased him the most about the entire beard situation, and who'd had girlfriends nearly the entire time Ryan had known him, would be pleased, amused, maybe even proud of him. But when the four of them met for cocktails and then dinner at the new pap-swarmed hot spot in London, Simon wasn't as effusive with Julianne as Ryan had expected. Oh, he was polite and charming, even friendly, so Ryan was sure Julianne hadn't noticed. But Mezhgan had; as soon as they were seated at the table she gave Ryan a _look_ before whisking Julianne off to the powder room.

"All right, Simon, we have about ten minutes, so you'd better tell me what your drama is."

"I have no problem," Simon said. "She's a nice girl. Young, but not immature. Clearly adores you. The photos in the press are quite believable."

"So that's it," Ryan said, sitting back. "God, you just hate it when I'm successful, don't you?"

"I think that's been established," he replied.

"Well, be nicer to Julianne. It's not her fault she actually likes me. I'm a likable fellow, you know. That's why they pay me the big bucks."

"Really? They pay me more to be unlikable."

Ryan sighed angrily, then leaned in closer. "Listen, you'd better cut this temper tantrum short. If you don't think I still have your mark on me then you're more of an idiot than you've ever been. I've been in your position more times than I can count and I knew how to behave myself in public. You want to sulk at me later, fine, but not in front of the girls."

Simon blinked at him and stared for a long moment, long enough that Ryan began to worry that the girls would come back before they had this settled. "I don't like it."

"You've made that pretty clear," Ryan said. "And you don't have to like it. But Jesus, Simon. Now is not the time."

"I suppose I can be nice for one night," Simon said, sighing. "Under protest."

"Noted," Ryan said, and cocked his head at the girls, who were returning from the ladies' room.

When they got to the table the men stood and Simon gave Julianne another hug. "I'm sorry I was cold, sweetheart," he said. "Been so stressful lately. But Ryan here gave me a good slap and I'll behave now."

Julianne's eyes went wide. "I hadn't even noticed!" she said, laughing, and Ryan giggled along with her. Simon smiled, and was charming for the rest of the evening. Ryan grinned all night, too; he and Julianne must really be clicking for Simon to be in his "annoyance with success" mood. He'd known it would work out. Maybe he was finally getting good at this girlfriend thing.

After dinner Ryan dropped Julianne off at her friend's place to visit for a few days, then circled back to Simon's house and collapsed next to him on the couch. "I'm glad you like her."

"You look good together," Simon replied.

"I think so," Ryan said.

"I'm sorry about earlier," he said. "Don't know what got into me. Just not used to it, I suspect."

"Jealous of my great success?"

"Something like that," Simon said. "But you were right; it wasn't the time."

"Now can be, if you want," Ryan offered.

Simon took Ryan's hand and stared at the back of it for a bit, rubbing it with his thumb. "I think I'd rather not," he said. "Can we just stop talking about her now?"

Ryan nodded. "Of course."

"Good," he replied, and proceeded to give Ryan what he liked to call "a proper welcome."

  


 _London, August 2010_

"You told him that you're annoyed with his _success_ at getting a beard?"

"Yes."

"And he bought it?"

"Of course, as it's the truth."

Elton sat back in his chair. "Jesus," he said, turning to his husband David. "It's worse than I thought."

"What?" Simon asked.

"That _you_ believe it too."

"I think I know my own mind."

Elton cocked his head. "I think you don't like to share your toys. And in the time you've been with Ryan you haven't had to, not really."

"I had Terri," Simon replied. "It would hardly be fair to—"

"Fair has nothing to do with it, _Gladys_. And Mezhgan isn't Terri."

Simon drummed his fingers on the table. "Your point, _Sharon_?"

"My point is that you don't really want Mezhgan around, do you? And now that Ryan has Julianne, you're jealous as hell."

"I'm sure I can find a better girlfriend—"

"Not of him! Of _her_."

"I—"

"Or, if you like, of me and David," Elton went on. "Or Ellen and Portia."

Simon scowled. "I certainly—"

"Come now, Simon," Elton said, sighing wearily. "You're among friends. I know I was rather pathetic about it but at least I have drugs as an excuse. I wouldn't pressure you but you just don't seem _happy_. I prefer my friends are happy; then they have more energy to deal with me."

Simon laughed then—he had to; it was all too absurd. "If I were to agree with you—and I'm not saying I do—what would you suggest I do?"

Elton turned to David. "What do you think?"

"I don't know, _talk to him_?" David suggested. "That might be helpful?"

"Just stop monkeying about, Simon," Elton said. "Get rid of Mezhgan, gently as possible of course, and marry that boy if that's what you want."

Simon blinked, because he hadn't really thought about it openly, as something that could actually happen, until now. "It is what I want," Simon said quietly. "God help me."

"Then do it," Elton said. "You're 50 years old, darling. Don't you think it's about time?"

Simon sat and looked at Elton and David for some moments before finally replying, "Yes. I think it is."

* * *

  
 _Los Angeles, August 2010_

"I hate to see you leave."

"I know. I hate leaving. I hate failing!" Ellen threw up her hands. "It was fun to be around _you_ at least."

"Oh, Randy's okay," Ryan said, winking.

She laughed. "God, Kara was such a jerk to me! What was that _about_?"

"It's like Mother always says," Portia said, joining them at the table and putting the breadbasket between them, "she was just jealous."

"Or," Ellen said.

"Or," Portia replied.

"Or ... what?" Ryan asked.

Portia grinned. "Or she wanted to fuck her, and it made her uncomfortable. Ellen can have that affect on a lady."

"Hell, she has that effect on _me_!" Ryan said.

"I'm still sorry it didn't work out," Ellen said. "I promised someone to take care of you, and now I can't keep that promise."

Ryan looked up. "He said that to you?"

"Yep."

"Huh. Luckily I can take care of myself pretty well."

"I know," she replied. "I think he knows that too." She broke off a piece from the baguette. "Can I be honest?"

"Aren't you always?"

She smiled. "I knew you two had a thing going on. But even having dinner with you both didn't prepare me for what you're like when you spend a lot of time together."

"What do you mean?" Ryan avoided her eyes.

"My god! I look at you two and you're so obviously in love and I think 'What are you doing? Why are you hiding?'"

"So you want us to be in the open?" Ryan asked.

"That's not for me to say," Ellen replied. "But you two are all but out in the open as it is, you know."

"You said everyone in their own time," Ryan said, scowling. "That's what you said to me."

Ellen laid her hand atop Ryan's. "I did, and I believe that. But are you happy?"

"Happy enough," he replied, snatching his hand back. "But I can't—"

"Oh my god," Ellen said. "It's Merv, isn't it?"

"I don't know what you mean," Ryan said, feeling the bottom of his stomach fall.

"What the hell did he tell you?" she asked, looking at him, and Ryan looked away. "No, I think I know. Can't have it all in Hollywood, have to make sacrifices to get to the top?"

Ryan ran a finger along a seam in the table. "Something like that," he said, softly.

Ellen shook her head. "Do you really want to end up an old man living alone, wearing caftans and fending off palimony suits?"

Ryan wanted to laugh at that, except that it wasn't funny. "Well, when you put it _that_ way."

"Ryan, _we're Merv_. I have a big hit afternoon talk show interviewing movie stars for mid-western stay-at-home moms. You're an Emmy nominated producer! You're very successful! Start writing your own rules!"

Ryan ate a few bites, very aware of Ellen and Portia's eyes on him. At last he said, "Fine, I'll think about it, okay?"

"While you're thinking," Ellen said, pulling out her iPad, "you might want to look at this." She handed it over to Ryan.

"Sinitta?" he asked. "I've seen this quote, this 'if he's true to himself he won't marry her' quote."

"She's Simon's friend, right?" Ellen asked.

"He's the godfather to her children."

Ellen took her iPad back. "Then maybe you should think about what she meant by it."

* * *

  
August was already planned out. Ryan had to get ready for the Kardashians premiere, and there were the Creative Arts Emmys, where he was a nominee, and the Prime Time Emmy red carpet. Plus he'd already promised to go to Julianne's sister's birthday party, which was a very boyfriendy thing to do. And Simon had his hands full with his own jobs, so they were missing each other quite a lot. He hadn't noticed just how much until Simon called him toward the end of the month.

"Thanks for the text!" Ryan said.

"Congratulations were in order," Simon replied. "I'm very proud of you. I know that show meant a lot to you."

"Yeah, this new Emmy will look good next to, you know, _my other Emmy_."

"Brat."

Ryan chuckled. "I miss you too. I was thinking about you."

"I saw that quote in the paper," Simon replied. "Thinking about how I don't have an Emmy."

"You know that's not why," Ryan replied.

"Perhaps. Oh, I also saw this item in _In Touch_ , which means your people planted it. So Julianna is moving into the house?"

"Julianne," Ryan corrected, "and no, I mean, she isn't really. She wouldn't move in with anyone, not before marriage. That's what makes it a good item."

"It is quite good."

Ryan shook his head. "You just don't want her using your coffee maker," he said.

"I certainly do not," Simon replied.

Ryan tapped his fingers nervously; Simon-as-bear required very careful handling. "So how's Mezhgan?" he asked.

"I wouldn't know," Simon said, sounding bored. "Haven't seen her in a few weeks."

"A few weeks? Is she traveling?"

"No."

They were silent for a moment, then Ryan said, "She's not moving in, Simon."

"Good," he replied, and hung up.

Ryan stared at the phone. He couldn't remember Simon hanging up on him when they weren't in the middle of a fight, and usually Simon at least let Ryan know what they were fighting about even if Simon had already worked himself up into a frenzy without Ryan even being there, which wasn't an unusual occurrence. And Simon had certainly been unreasonably jealous regarding Ryan before, usually of the singers who got to touch him on air, and normally Ryan would just fuck him out of it. But this was new. Simon had never been jealous of Shana, but then, Shana was a long time ago when things between the two of them weren't as serious. If Simon was really worried enough to guard his territory—that territory being Ryan himself, he supposed—and at the same time had got rid of Mezhgan, then maybe he was trying to say something else entirely. Ryan thought about what Ellen had said, and realized he was finally ready to do something about it.

He looked at his calendar. Sure, it was a bit nuts now, but after the prime time Emmys it opened right up. Kardashians up and running, everything else in development. Yeah, he could definitely spare the time.

* * *

  
 _London, September 2010_

Simon had had a crap fucking day. He was tired and irritable and he was looking forward to having some whiskey and then going to bed, because he really could not deal with one more thing tonight. Well, at least tomorrow was Saturday.

Once he walked into the living room, however, he realized he would have to deal with one more thing, because Ryan was sitting on his couch.

"I didn't expect to see you here," Simon said, sitting in the chair opposite.

Ryan swallowed, hard. He looked very small, sitting cross-legged on one cushion. "Me neither," he said. "But I've been thinking. Five years ago you came to LA and said you'd been courting me and that we should buy a house."

"I remember."

"Well, that house I bought, that's our house, Simon. _Our_ house. I could never just move someone else into it. If we—if we ended things, I'd get a new house."

Simon looked around the room. "So would I."

Ryan's eyebrows went up. "Yeah?"

"Yeah. But you didn't come all this way to talk about houses."

He shrugged. "I kinda did." He stood and walked over to Simon and handed him a box. "I didn't get you a ring. I figure I'll be lucky if you actually wear the one. So I got you this."

Simon opened the box and pulled out its contents. "It's a watch."

"Yeah, um, apparently it's a Jewish tradition for the bride to give the groom a watch as an engagement present," he said, rubbing the back of his neck with his hand. "At least, that's what Ben Silverman said."

"An engagement present?" Simon asked, because he wanted to be sure.

"I just, I don't want to be a lonely old man wearing caftans. I can't pull it off, anyway—I'm too short and my shoulders are too broad and I'll just look like a lump."

Simon scowled. "Caftans? Ryan, what are you on about?"

"I want to be with you. You said on Oprah that you're thinking about kids, and I want you to think about them with me. I want to watch you grow old while I remain mysteriously youthful. I want to live with you and I want everyone to know. And we can do it here, and then probably in California very soon, and in Georgia approximately never but whatever." He paused. "I want to marry you."

"You're sure?" Simon asked, standing up. "Because last year—"

"Last year I was an idiot. Last year I was terrified. I'm done being scared." He squared his shoulders. "Time to stop being a good little soldier and actually be brave."

"It's going to be a circus," Simon said.

"Yeah, well, I don't know if you've noticed, but I'm a damn good ringleader," Ryan said, smiling. "Is that a yes, by the way?"

Simon pulled back his sleeve and put the watch on. "Of course, Ryan." He smiled back, and then pulled Ryan into his arms.

"I told Julianne we could just say it was a summer romance," Ryan said, his voice a little muffled against Simon's shoulder.

"Mezhgan's already gone," Simon said. "We just haven't made it public yet."

"Maybe we can distract the press with an enormous wedding and lots of celebs."

"So long as you don't sell sponsorships."

"No, that's tacky."

"I think if they could eventually get over Brad and Jen, they'll get over you and Julianne."

"I hope so," Ryan said. He lifted up his head to look Simon in the eye. "So when are you going to kiss me, anyway?"

"No time like the present," Simon said.

* * *

  
 _Chicago, March 2011_

"Today, two fellas that have been friends of this show and personal friends of mine for years now. Their lives have taken, maybe an _unexpected_ turn, and they're with us to talk about it. Please welcome Ryan Seacrest and Simon Cowell!"

Ryan turned to Simon. "Ready?"

Simon took his hand. "As I'll ever be."

They walked out onto the stage to warm applause from the audience, and gave Oprah kisses before settling onto her couch.

"So!" she said. "Big changes!"

The audience laughed as they all nodded.

Oprah chuckled, then said, "Thanks for announcing this while I'm still on air!"

"You know," Ryan said, "Larry King called me the other day when he heard we were going to be here and he said, 'Why couldn't you two have figured this out a year ago when you could have been on _my_ show?' Sorry, Larry!"

"Yes," Simon said, "sorry we didn't plan our romantic life according to schedule."

"When _did_ it happen?" Oprah asked.

"This fall," Ryan replied.

Simon nodded. "Mezhgan had just dumped me, and Ryan's thing with Julianne was fizzling. He came to London for business one weekend, and we were sitting around my house talking and we just looked at each other and said, 'Why not?'"

"So all those people who said we'd been flirting this entire time were right after all," Ryan said. "We just weren't aware of it."

"It was as simple as that?" Oprah asked.

"Like a light turned on," Ryan said. "A switch flipped in my head." He turned to Simon. "I just knew. Sometimes you just know."

"I like that," Oprah said, "Like a light turned on, I like that. And you got engaged pretty much right away."

"Why wait? We didn't need to get to know each other," Ryan said. "We've been close for almost ten years now. Besides, at Simon's age ..."

"Ryan," Simon said in his old warning way.

"And you both had only dated women before this," Oprah continued.

"Yes," Simon said, "and I have to say, Oprah, that we really were in proper relationships with those women. This isn't a case of, oh, he was gay the entire time. I had found men attractive here and there, of course, but one of the reasons I didn't recognize my feelings for Ryan being what they are is that I didn't think of myself as gay. I thought, if I'm not like my good friend Elton, I must not be gay. And I'm not much like Elton!"

The crowd laughed then, and Ryan said, "I think you're a lot like Elton, actually!"

"How so?" Simon asked.

Ryan counted off on his fingers. "You're a diva, you have an enormous ego, you need to have things your own way, you have a big personality, you're marrying a more low-key man fifteen years younger—"

"Low key?" Simon asked. "Right, if I'm a diva, so are you, darling."

Ryan held up his hands as the audience continued to laugh.

"I can't believe we didn't see it before," Oprah said.

"We didn't even see it before," Ryan said. "Or at least, we didn't take it seriously, as Simon was saying. But things change, and you don't choose who you fall in love with. Though if you could choose, I think I didn't do too badly here." He smiled.

"Simon?" Oprah asked. "Anything to say to that?"

Ryan shook his head. "He hates having to be complimentary on demand," Ryan said. "He likes to do it when you least expect it."

"That is true," Simon said, "but I will say that Ryan is a good man. So," and he rapped his knuckles on the little wooden table next to him.

"Lovely," Oprah said. "Isn't that lovely?' she asked the audience, and they all applauded. "So when is the wedding?"

"June," Simon said. "In London."

"And then a smaller ceremony after that in California, when it's legal again," Ryan added.

"Our birthdays are in the late fall and winter," Simon said, "so spring is nicer—and I think Ryan should be a June bride, don't you?"

Ryan rolled his eyes—they'd already argued over Simon's penchant of referring to Ryan as the bride, but clearly it wasn't going to stop any time soon. "We're both grooms," Ryan said.

Simon cocked his head. "You're the one obsessing over flower arrangements, Ryan. I'm just saying."

"Dream wedding?" Oprah asked.

"You did dream about us getting married once, remember?" Simon said.

"Oh my god," Ryan said, burying his head in his hand. "I had the flu! A temperature of a hundred and two. I shouldn't be held responsible for my _fever dreams_!" He turned to Simon. "I can't believe you're saying this on national television."

"International," Simon said. "We get it in the UK as well."

"We broadcast to more than one hundred and twenty countries, actually," Oprah said.

"Not you too!" Ryan said. He threw up his hands. "I hate you, Simon Cowell. I hate you so much."

"Oh Ryan," Simon said. "When you say that it sounds like love."

Oprah laughed with the audience, and turned to the camera. "We'll be right back." As soon as the stage manager announced they were clear, she turned to Simon and Ryan and said, "Okay, in the next segment we're going to talk about the public reaction. Are you ready for that?"

"Yes," Simon said firmly. "Of course."

Ryan could only nod, and then Oprah's producers swirled around her.

Simon leaned into Ryan's shoulder. "So strange to do this without Max," he said.

Ryan took his hand again. "I know, but we have good people working with us. Look how the audience and the press are eating up the whole 'we didn't know we were in love' bit."

"Well," Simon replied, "we're giving them what they want to hear." He turned to Ryan. "What are you looking at?" he asked.

"You," Ryan said. "Wouldn't have done this with anyone else."

"Oh," Simon said, turning a little red. "Well, good to know."

Ryan could see the stage manager signaling out of the corner of his eye. "Here goes," he said, as the audience was prompted to applaud.

"We're back with Ryan Seacrest and Simon Cowell, talking about their decision to get married this summer," Oprah said into the camera. She turned to Ryan and Simon. "So we've talked about the fun part, the falling in love part. Now let's talk about the not-so-fun part. How has the reaction been?"

"Well, Oprah, it's been mixed, of course," Simon said. "And some members of my team have changed."

"You fired your longtime publicist, Max."

"It was mutual," Simon replied, diplomatic as what had actually happened was a month of Max trying to talk Simon out of coming out and out of the marriage before Simon finally told him that if he didn't think he could rise to the challenge of managing their coming out announcement then Simon would find someone else who could. "But luckily in the music industry it isn't as much of an issue, at least behind the scenes."

"Also you're the boss," Ryan said.

"So are you," Simon replied.

Ryan shook his head. "Not everywhere," he said. "But Fox has been nothing but fantastic, as have the _Idol_ folks, and even though I'm sure there's plenty of mail they've kept it away from me."

"But on the radio," Simon said.

"Yeah, on the radio show we've had to get better about screening the calls, which is unfortunate. But for every negative call that slips through, there are so many more positive ones, and they make it worth it, to just ride it out."

"And there have been negative calls," Oprah said.

"Sure," Ryan replied. "A lot of kids and teenagers listen to my morning show, and some of them—and some of the adults—haven't had the most mature reactions. Not all of it homophobic or gay-bashing; some folks want to know why I didn't come out sooner, why I insisted I wasn't gay. All I can say is that you have to do what feels right for you, when it feels right."

"You do the best you can with what you know," Oprah said, "and when you know better, you do better. I believe that."

"Yeah, exactly. But we have started to reach out to local teens and talk about bullying in schools, especially with gay, lesbian, bisexual, transgendered or questioning teens. So there's a positive thing you can make out of the negativity."

"And your families?" Oprah asked.

"Well," Ryan said, sighing, "I'd be lying if I said it was all easy, but we did give them plenty of time between when we told them and when we told everyone else, to get used to the idea before the media started calling them. It's a surprise when your 35-year-old son, your 50-year-old son, comes to you with a boyfriend. We've had our rough moments, but they're coming around."

"No one has refused to come to the wedding yet, at least," Simon said. "But then, it takes a lot to turn down free food and drink."

Ryan chuckled. "We're bribing them into accepting us?" he asked.

"It's working," Simon said with a shrug. "But to be serious, we also wanted that time to get Ryan out of the front lines. We held back the public statement until after the _Idol_ auditions, after all of his red carpets."

"It's been strange enough on E!News, being the top story while I'm standing right there," Ryan said. "I didn't want to make the red carpet about a bunch of celebs talking to me about my life."

"Speaking of shows," Oprah said, " _X-Factor_ debuts this fall. Are you worried about a backlash?"

Simon cocked his head. "Not really," he said. "I've always been, you love me or you hate me, and even if you hate me you're going to tune in. People watch to see me be honest, and this is all me, being honest. Who knows, it may even improve the ratings!"

"Any chance you'll be on that show, Ryan?" Oprah asked.

"I don't know," Ryan said, "but I don't think so. Simon deserves to see if he can be successful without my help."

"Oh that's it exactly," Simon said, rolling his eyes.

"I doubt it would be a good idea to start married life working for my husband," Ryan said, "and America has seen enough of us squabbling on TV. You know, I've seen all these celeb couples come and go, and the smart ones don't put it all out there. Maybe we can keep ourselves private for a little while."

Simon looked at him, eyebrow raised. "You really think we can do that?" he asked.

"Would the paparazzi _let_ you do that?" Oprah asked.

"I think so," Ryan said. "Once you announce you're a couple and getting married, pics of you together just aren't that interesting anymore. Yeah, it was a little weird seeing them camped out near my house, but after a few weeks it died back down again. And let's face it, Brad and Angelina we're not."

"Speak for yourself!" Simon said.

"But the British tabloids are often more aggressive, aren't they?" Oprah asked.

"Yes, but as Ryan said, it'll die down," Simon replied. "They'll move on to a football wife or someone off of _Strictly Come Dancing_ and forget about me."

"At least until the wedding," Ryan said.

"Well," Simon said, smiling, "they can cover _that_ all they want."

  


 _Barbados, December 2024_

"Simon?"

"Hmm?"

"What are you doing?"

"There was a time when you liked that I woke you up with sex," Simon said.

"I didn't say I didn't like it," Ryan said, turning around in his arms. "I was just asking you what you were doing."

"This," he said, running a hand along Ryan's hip and kissing him.

"Let me," Ryan said, reaching back to grab the tube out of the bedside table drawer.

"But it's your day," Simon said.

"On my day I get what I want," Ryan said, "and what I want is to fuck you." He smiled, running his hand through Simon's white hair.

"All right," Simon said, his smile slowly turning into a grin. "All right."

They kissed again and kept kissing as Simon's hands went wherever they wanted to and Ryan's went to his ass, stretching and preparing him but also just fondling him because Ryan kind of liked driving Simon a little crazy with his hands first.

Simon's hands kept returning to Ryan's chest, where the muscles were firm and strong even if his stomach wasn't quite as flat as it once was. But these days he'd rather eat with and run around with their children than spend time working out his core with some trainer in a gym. He'd swim laps after lunch and not overdo it on cake, and that would be enough.

Most of the time they did it sideways, Simon's leg slung over Ryan's hip, because it was better for both their backs and kept the bed-creaking to a minimum. As Simon said, no reason to traumatize the children, even if they had long since had the birds-and-bees talk. Ryan liked it because they just had to rock against each other to get going, like a cross between frottage and fucking, warm and wet and perfect for a winter morning in the islands. Simon's hand was wrapped around his cock, pumping it steadily in time with Ryan's thrusts, kissing each other to stay quiet but still taking their time.

"Love you," Simon said, and that word came more easily to him now that he said it to the kids all the time, as though their helpless dependence had unlocked something inside of him.

"Love you too, darling," Ryan whispered, and it wasn't many more thrusts until he came, pulling Simon's body against his own. They rutted a bit more, increasing the friction to get Simon off, and he came all over their stomachs. Ryan reached for the ever-present towel to clean them up. Fatherhood hadn't made him any less of a compulsive cleaner of bodily fluids; he merely cleaned up a wider range of them.

"Hmm, we should make sure they aren't burning the house down," Ryan said.

"Probably," Simon said. "I'll go. You shower, and I'll bathe later."

Ryan leaned back to look at him. "You're making breakfast?"

"I think I can manage toast and tea, Ryan."

Sure enough the kids were awake, sitting on the couch in their pajamas and watching cartoons on the satellite television. Odd to think that it was ten years ago now that Ryan had convinced him to go with a surrogate and muddle through the infant years like anyone else. Eric had Simon's genes, Emily Ryan's, but the same egg donor so they were proper siblings. They were nearly nine now, and actual little people with their own personalities and ideas, Eric with Simon's dark hair and Emily with Ryan's green eyes.

"Morning Dad," they said, almost in unison.

"Hello, loves," Simon said. "Breakfast?"

They nodded.

Simon sighed. "Right, pause the telly and come into the kitchen. No eating in the living room, you know how your father gets."

Eric paused the show with a minimal amount of grumbling and they both followed Simon out of the room.

Breakfast ended up being frozen multi-grain waffles with all natural peanut butter and bananas. (Ryan was trying to keep his anxiety over his children having his own youthful weight problem under control, he really was, but Simon had to let it go when it came to having only wholesome organic food in all of their houses, even here in Barbados.) The kids sat on stools around the kitchen counter, swinging their legs to and fro.

"Looking forward to the party next week?" Simon asked.

They nodded, mouths full, and then Eric said, "Do we _have_ to dress up?"

Simon smiled. "You know, when you were little you upset your sister very much by telling her that weddings were something only boys did," he said, "and now you don't want to put on a jacket for your father's fiftieth birthday party?"

"Why would I say something stupid like that?" Eric asked.

"Because you're a jerk," Emily said.

"No, because you used to sit and watch our wedding video over and over," Simon said. "Emily, don't call your brother a jerk."

"But he _is_ a jerk."

"Then tell him not to be a jerk when he's behaving like one, but don't just call him a jerk. That's not constructive."

"After all these years, you finally learned what constructive criticism means," Ryan said, entering the room. His hair, still brown but shot through with silver, was wet and slicked back against his scalp, and he had his pajamas on as well.

"Happy Birthday Papa!" the kids said, jumping down off their stools to give him a hug.

"Thanks!" he said, giving them each a kiss while they were still amenable. "Mmm, smells good. Can I have a waffle too?"

Eric walked over to the freezer. "I'll fix it," he said.

"Dad burned the first two," Emily added.

"You can manage toast, eh?" Ryan asked.

"I made you tea," Simon said.

"Thanks," Ryan said, pouring some skim milk into his cup before adding tea from the pot.

"And I cut up the banana," Simon continued. "Emily spread the peanut butter. A group effort."

"So glad to know you can get breakfast without me," Ryan said, smiling.

"Papa?" Emily asked. "I think I know what dress I'm going to wear to the party." Emily had also inherited the clotheshorse gene from her father; these days it was difficult to get Eric to wear anything other than jeans and T-shirts.

"Yeah?" Ryan asked.

"The purple one," she replied.

" _Excellent_ choice," Ryan said. "Don't you think so, Dad?"

"Absolutely," Simon replied, though he couldn't remember what the purple dress actually looked like. But Emily smiled, and if Ryan approved of her choice that was good enough for him.

"Hey Dad," Emily asked, "are there any videos of _your_ fiftieth birthday party?"

"No," Simon said firmly. "It was a grown up party anyway, with people doing grown up things, so you would have found it a bit boring."

"I hope _this_ party isn't going to be _boring_ ," Eric said.

"Your cousins will be here all week," Ryan said, referring to his sister's children. "And Auntie Sinitta."

"All week?" Eric asked, brightening a little.

"All week," Ryan replied. "Okay, everyone dressed. I want to go for a walk before it gets too hot."

"Happy Birthday, Ryan," Simon said as the kids flew out of the room. "Make a wish."

Ryan smiled and shook his head. "It already came true."

* * *

**Author's Note:**

> I have ART, people! ART! Thank you SO MUCH to engel82 for an amazing animated banner, icon, and chapter headers. Make sure you go and praise her! Thank you so much Emilie!  
> If Simon were judging this story, he'd call it self-indulgent. I find that I don't care. (I like to think that Ryan would read passages from it on his radio show while surrounded by candles.)  
> Huge, giant, ridiculous thanks to ignaz for her beta skills, insights, and season nine recaps; and melodiousb for her beta skills, patience, and treasure trove of newslinks about Ryan and Julianne, and Simon and Mezghan. Without them this fic would likely make absolutely no sense.  
> Also thanks to my fellow Rymonistas both at flaming_potato and hanging 'round Ig's place for the constant encouragement. I don't know if I'd write anything if it wasn't for you folks, so I hope the fic is enough thanks for that.  
> Particular giant thanks to dana_kujan, whose co-fannishness, friendship and support have been amazing over the last five years; I'm probably still writing Rymon because of her. This is in some ways my final word on Idol-era Rymon, and so this story is for her. Thank you, thank you, thank you, thank you—a billion of them wouldn't be enough.  
> Thanks also to the jim_and_bones crew for being understanding as I used our word wars to finish this not very K/Mc (or even Chris/Karl) story, and for so good-naturedly cheering me on.  
> And finally, thank you to Ryan Seacrest and Simon Cowell for finding each other so endlessly fascinating that they forget that they are in front of television cameras, on the radio, near the paparazzi, and just carry out their relationship in the full glare of the public eye. Whatever you two are actually up to, it's clearly real and gives you both a great deal of joy, and it was truly an honor to watch. Good luck to you both. I'll always be your fan.


End file.
